Gospel Story Finder

Sweet though this knowledge was, the seven years between Moroni’s first visit on 21–22 September 1823 and the official organization of the Church on 6 April 1830 were a time of great testing for Joseph and Lucy. They arranged to purchase forest land in Manchester, New York; began clearing the land; built a log home, barn, and outbuildings; planted an orchard; and began building a large New England–style frame house. By 1830 the farm was numbered among the better ones in the township and was known for its “neatness and arrangement.”
A bitter blow fell when Alvin died suddenly, only six weeks after the angel Moroni’s visitation. The family’s “happiness [was] blasted in a moment,” and Joseph, Lucy, and the children “were for a time … swallowed up in grief.” On the heels of this sorrow, they lost the title to their farm. Alvin had earned enough money for all but the last payment “after much labor, suffering, and fatigue” before his death and had also begun the construction of their new frame home. When the first land agent died, there was a misunderstanding, and through deception the carpenter they hired to finish their home acquired the deed. A Quaker gentleman came to their rescue, purchasing the land and allowing them to live in the house and on the farm for the next four years in exchange for their son Samuel’s work.

I have never before read such a profitable and edifying publication as the Liahona (Spanish). I’m a young person who has never really cared to read. And when I started to read the magazine, I didn’t think I would find anything that would motivate me to search the scriptures and help me understand the message of the Lord Jesus Christ. But as I read the January 2000 issue, the talk “The Faith of a Sparrow: Faith and Trust in the Lord Jesus Christ” by Elder H. Bruce Stucki of the Seventy had a real impact on my life—so much so that I have continued to study the scriptures.
Thanks to our Heavenly Father and His missionaries, I have found the truth, and I am going to be baptized. Thank you for preparing missionaries to teach people like me.
Alexi Antonio López López,Oriental Ward, San Miguel El Salvador Stake
Note: Brother López was baptized on 18 March 2000, shortly after this letter was written.

Tyler loved having visitors. His family had signed up to help feed the missionaries, and tonight they were coming to dinner. Mom had promised that he could sit next to them.
At the table, Tyler felt shy and didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be a missionary someday, so he listened and watched carefully. He wanted to remember how missionaries act. He looked at their shiny shoes, white shirts, and straight ties. Then he noticed something on their shirt pockets. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to Elder Snow’s pocket.
“My name tag,” Elder Snow replied, holding it up a little.
“‘Elder Snow,’” Tyler read. “‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ Do all the missionaries have name tags?”
“I think so,” the other missionary, Elder Millburn, replied. “We want everyone to know that we are missionaries for the Church.”
“I always make sure to put my name tag on,” Elder Snow added. “I want everybody to know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
After the missionaries left, Tyler told Mom, “I’m going to make a name tag. I want to wear one so that people will know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
Tyler cut a rectangle out of paper and carefully printed his name on it. Below his name, he wrote, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He taped a folded paper to the back of it to insert in his pocket to hold the name tag on. He went to the mirror to see how it looked.
First thing in the morning he thought about his name tag. Hurriedly he got dressed and put it on.
When Mom went grocery shopping, Tyler went too. He walked around, hoping that everyone saw his name tag. While they were going back to the car, it started to rain. He pushed the cart quickly and helped Mom load the car before they both got very wet. “Such a good helper!” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
At home he helped carry in the groceries. When he leaned over, he noticed that his name tag was torn and sagging. And rain had smeared the words. I need a better name tag, he told himself.
That afternoon, he cut a rectangle out of a plastic lid. He wrote his and the Church’s name on it with a marker so that the words wouldn’t wash away. He taped another piece of plastic to the back and stuck it in his pocket. He had a name tag again. Showing it to Dad, he said, “Just like the missionaries, I like to wear my name tag.”
Tyler went to show his big sister. She was studying at her desk and didn’t seem very happy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, forgetting about the name tag.
“I have too much homework,” she moaned, “and it’s my turn to do the dishes.” She started writing again.
Tyler watched for a minute. “I’ll do the dishes.”
His sister looked surprised.
“My homework is all done,” he said. “I have time to do them.”
She gave him a hug and exclaimed, “You’re a great brother!”
Tyler did the dishes, but his shirt got wet and dirty. Pulling it off, he threw it in the laundry.
Getting dressed the next morning, he remembered his name tag and ran to the laundry room. His mother had already washed the shirt. She was putting it in the dryer. “Wait!” he yelled, pulling the shirt out of the pile. The name tag fell to the floor, twisted and warped. Tyler couldn’t make it lie flat. He threw it away. I’ll have to make something better, he told himself.
In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail, and put a piece of twine through them so that he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to his mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. Searching, he finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”
A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

“There are a lot of temptations, and you have to be strong,” says Tyrah Mohandessi, 16, of Athens. “But if you spend your time doing good things, you don’t have time for bad things.”
She practices what she preaches. For example, she is deeply involved with the Limestone County Youth Leadership organization.
“It’s based on helping people,” she explains. “We work with a lot of leaders in the community to try to solve problems, and we do service projects, like cleanups and visits to hospitals.”
She also spends two or three evenings each week with a mentally and physically challenged friend whose single mother has to work nights and can’t afford to hire help. And she’s on a soccer team and plays bass in a jazz band.

My first contact with the Liahona was when a friend—who later became my husband—brought me a copy when he returned to the United States from serving a mission in Argentina and Chile. Later when I served a mission in Chile, I loved the magazine and was grateful that the members had it to help them build their faith. Now as a senior missionary in Tonga, I use it in the classes I teach at church. Thank you for the Liahona!Sister Mary Lou Ellsworth, Tonga Nuku‘alofa Mission

The next evening I joined five other people in a study group at the home of Mr. Kasongo. He had been doing research when he came across a book about American churches. “My heart pounded as I read the name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. After writing to the Church’s headquarters, he received some literature—including A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
For two years, our group met twice a week. When missionaries, Elder Roger L. and Sister Simonne B. Dock, arrived in March 1987, 50 people were studying together.
The Docks began teaching the missionary discussions in French in the public school. Because some people spoke only Swahili, I interpreted. I heard the missionary discussions for the first time myself while interpreting.
On 9 May 1987 I was one of 80 people baptized in a pool at an abandoned copper mine. For me, baptism was an outer confirmation of an inner conversion that had taken place years earlier. I had been waiting for this sacred ordinance so I could officially become a member of the Church.
I have received so many blessings—among them the time I spent translating for couple missionaries. They are as dedicated as if the Master Himself were physically beside them.
I thank my Heavenly Father for these rich experiences and for the opportunity my wife, Jolie Mwenze, and I have to raise our son in the Church. And particularly I thank Him for sending me the gospel—a gem beyond price.

My name is Somaro Manning, and I am a professional building contractor in Jamaica. In October 2023, my business partner, Loren McDonald, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I had the opportunity to bid on and complete a Church humanitarian project in our area. Little did I know this opportunity would lead to my baptism into the Church.
My business partner, whom I consider to be my brother, would often nudge me, encouraging me to be baptized. After working on the humanitarian project and having in-depth conversations with strong men in the gospel, I met with the missionaries and saw how truthful and sincere they were in spreading the gospel of Christ. On November 6, 2023, I was baptized a member of the Church. My wife is not yet a member, but my hope is that she will accept the gospel soon so that she, too, can experience the joy and blessings that the gospel brings.

At the Face to Face event for single adults in June 2021, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled single adults: “We have to find other people of faith. … In this world that we live [in], we [have] … to have other people of faith who we can connect with at the very deep level of our faith and talk openly about how our prayers are answered [and] how we feel the Holy Ghost. … You might get that from … your family, but … you [have] … to go out and find them!”1
As one of the participants in that event, I was placed in a group with six amazing disciples of Christ who have become some of my closest friends. Although our backgrounds, cultures, and personal situations are very different, we were united in our testimonies of Heavenly Father, the Savior, and the gospel. After the event concluded, we have continued to stay close friends. Our love for each other and our faith in Heavenly Father and the Savior help us continue to support each other through life’s ups and downs.

Davin E., 14, from Alberta, Canada, understands this well, and he has found that the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet has been a great resource in his efforts. “It teaches me that I can serve others and that I can invite others to come unto Christ, and it helps me prepare for my mission,” he says.
Working with his dad on Duty to God has been an added blessing for Davin.
As he approaches each new section of the booklet, Davin sets goals regarding what he wants to learn. Then he and his father, James, discuss how he will learn about his selected topic, as well as what he can do to act on what he learns. Once he’s done that, he has the opportunity to share what he’s learned either in family home evening or at the beginning of his teachers quorum meeting on Sunday.
His father says, “My favorite goal was Davin’s desire to learn about his priesthood duty. We searched the Doctrine and Covenants together to discover the sections pertaining to the priesthood. He then read these sections and shared what he had learned with the family and in his journal. I believe that as Davin learns and applies the truths of the gospel on his own, they will become relevant to him personally.”
As for Davin, he appreciates working together with his dad. “Doing Duty to God with my dad helps me because he has more insight than I do and knows what I need to do to become a better priesthood holder,” he says.
Davin concludes, “Duty to God improves your life, and it allows you to learn things that you discover are important. I know that fulfilling my priesthood duties helps me and others in the Church. And I know that Duty to God allows me to strengthen my testimony.”

The Summiteers of the Lansing Michigan Stake undertook a rather unusual hike. They chose to join with 50,000 other participants in the five-mile annual walk across the Mackinac Bridge.
Young women and their leaders and advisers camped for several days before the event. They attended church at a small branch where they were asked to help with the sacrament meeting program and Sunday School.
After breaking camp early on Monday morning, the girls were driven to the starting point to cross on foot the largest suspension bridge in the world. They joined the crowd of young and old, including families with babies in strollers and senior citizens in wheelchairs. They completed their five-mile walk in a little over an hour and a half and received their certificates.
The Summiteers enjoyed the adventure and the chance to get together for the event.

Once I was arguing with my mom and felt pretty bad. So, I decided I would pray. Although I was in a bad mood and didn’t want to be spiritual, I knew praying would end up with me getting happy and less argumentative. So right there at the table, after my mom left, I started my prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’ve come to you tonight because …”
No, I opened my eyes and unfolded my arms. That sounded weird. I tried my second attempt. “Heavenly Father, I need …”
That also sounded strange. Now that I think of it, the opening to my prayers had only one problem, and I am glad I tried again because I felt Satan urging me to stop and give up my prayer to ask Heavenly Father for help. “Dear Heavenly Father—”
Suddenly I had a prompting to say thank you! So I did, and all the many things I could thank my Father in Heaven for started spilling from my head. When I was done thanking Him, I then discussed the problem at hand. My prayer lasted 25 minutes. In the end I made sure to close in the name of Jesus Christ. After my prayer I felt a wonderful peace inside me, the warm spiritual feeling that I know our Heavenly Father and parents love me and that I am a child of God.

Illustration by Mark Robison
“The rain barrel is empty,” said 10-year-old Lydia as she wiped a plate dry. “May I use some well water on my raspberry patch?”
Lydia’s mother sighed as she washed a bowl in the sink. “I’m afraid raspberries are a luxury during a drought. You may use the dish rinse water, but we need to save the well water.”
Lydia frowned. Her raspberry jam had once won a blue ribbon at the Iowa State Fair. She didn’t think her berries would be as delicious if she used dishwater on them.
Lydia’s father came into the kitchen and sat down heavily. He wiped his sweaty forehead.
“Are you all right, Stephen?” Mother asked.
“I’m fine,” Father said, “but I have some bad news. The well has finally gone dry.”
Lydia felt a stab of worry. A lot of the neighbors’ wells had already dried out. Mother twisted her apron in her hands.
“Don’t despair,” Father said gently, taking Mother’s hand. “We still have the deeper windmill well out in the fields. I’m taking the tank truck there right now.”
“May I go?” Lydia asked, suddenly feeling better. She was so glad they had that windmill!
“Yes,” Mother said. “I’ll save the rinse water for you.”
“Thank you!” Lydia hurried outside. Maybe if she helped fetch the well water, Father would let her use some on the raspberries.
Father climbed into the truck, and they began their dusty drive to the far end of the fields. When they reached the windmill, Lydia sat up and stared. Several wagons and trucks lined the road, and a crowd of people stood around the well. All of them had tanks and barrels.
“What are they doing?” Lydia asked.
Father narrowed his eyes. “Getting water, it looks like.”
“But it’s our water!” Lydia said. She imagined her raspberries drying out under the hot sun. “We need it. They can’t just take it!”
Father parked the truck and hopped out. “Stay put, Lydia,” he said.
The people around the well froze and silently watched Father approach.
Lydia couldn’t hear what Father said, but when he finished talking, she was surprised that many of the people were smiling. Some even cried and shook Father’s hand. Then they all worked together to fill all their barrels and tanks.
Lydia didn’t understand. Why was Father doing this?
When the crowd left and Father began filling his own tank, Lydia climbed out.
“You gave away our water,” Lydia muttered. Confusion and anger washed over her.
Lydia’s father stooped down so he was face-to-face with Lydia. “Listen carefully, Lydia Lucille. I figure the water in this well is a gift from God. We no more own it than we own the air we breathe. As long as there is water in this well, we will share it with those in need.”
Father then dipped a ladle into a bucket and handed it to Lydia. Gratefully she drank the cold, clean water. She thought about all the other people and how scary it must be for them to not have water of their own. She was glad her father decided to share.
Lydia scrambled back into the truck. She was anxious to get home and pour the dishwater on her thirsty berries. She might not get as many big, juicy raspberries this year. But whatever she got, she would be sure to share.
Even though many people used the windmill well on Lydia’s farm during the summer drought of 1930, the well never ran out of water.

Richard set about building a home and planting a field of wheat. A hailstorm destroyed his crop, however, and he and his wife and infant son faced a winter with no income and little food. Despite these hardships, Richard was inspired with an idea, one that he could not ignore. He wanted to start a Sunday School for the children in the valley. With his bishop’s approval, Richard began construction on an adobe building in which to hold Sunday School. He worked long hours hauling sandstone and logs, plastering walls, and making benches.
At last it was finished. On December 9, 1849, the first Sunday School in Salt Lake Valley was held. Richard led the children in a song, said a prayer, read a short scripture, then began to tell the story of Jesus. Years later he declared, “I was early called to this work by the voice of the spirit, and I have felt many times that I have been ordained to this work before I was born, for even before I joined the Church I was moved upon to work for the young. Surely no more joyful nor profitable labor can be performed by an elder.”
For four years Richard planted crops, and for four years the crops failed. He resolutely continued with the Sunday School, though, and found peace and satisfaction in teaching the children.

They were on their way to the nearest temple when youth from the Bloomington Ward, Minneapolis Minnesota Stake, pulled into Nauvoo. They were about to check into the historical Nauvoo House when they learned it was right in the line of the summer’s horrible flooding. The youth went to work immediately, joining a sandbagging brigade that strengthened the levy between the inn and the river. Everyone from the smallest Beehives to the largest priests worked side by side.

So much for touring Nauvoo. They almost missed seeing the show at the Nauvoo Visitors’ Center too, because while they were sandbagging, no one picked up the tickets they’d reserved months earlier, and their tickets were given away to others. When the visitors’ center missionaries heard what had happened, they delayed the show while the youth cleaned up, and they brought in extra seating to accommodate those who had helped save the Nauvoo House.

The youth felt it was probably the most memorable excursion they would ever take. They not only had the chance to serve the dead by doing baptisms in the temple, but they were able to serve the living and generations to come by helping save a historical landmark.

Resting on the stone steps of the ancient ruins of Dzibilchaltún in Mexico, Sandra Hernández and Meily Tolosa quietly consider the scattered ruins of a city nearly 1,500 years old. The silence around them is almost as heavy as the humid tropical air. But the peaceful moment doesn’t last long.
The silence shatters as Samuel Hernández comes hooting and hollering out of the thick jungle, which grows right up to the edge of the small pyramid. His friends Jorge Tolosa and Wilbert Agosta follow right behind him.
“Oh, I thought I was going to die,” he laughs as he throws himself down onto the steps and tries to catch his breath. Picking their way through the jungle, Samuel and his friends had been making their way toward a partially overgrown structure when they startled a flock of hidden birds. The birds weren’t the only ones startled. “Oh, my heart,” Samuel says, laughing.
Samuel, Meily, and other youth from the Canek Ward, Mérida México Centro Stake, are spending the day exploring some of Mexico’s ancient ruins. Dzibilchaltún is just one of the thousands of crumbling settlements left throughout the Americas by ancient inhabitants.
The land from central Mexico to Honduras (also called Mesoamerica) has been home to many thriving civilizations. On this trip to Dzibilchaltún, the youth are grateful that ruins of some of their ancestors’ cities have been preserved so they can explore where their ancestors lived. “It’s interesting to learn what my ancestors did and what happened to them,” says Jorge, a deacon.
In the same way, these youth are thankful that the record of the family of Lehi has been preserved so they can learn from its teachings and experiences. “I’m grateful the Lord preserved the Book of Mormon for us to learn from,” Jorge says.
Many Nephite prophets, such as Nephi, Enos, and Mormon, prayed that the Lord would preserve their testimonies of Jesus Christ to help their descendants (see 2 Ne. 25:21; Enos 1:16–18; W of M 1:8).
As He promised, the Lord preserved their records and brought them to light again through the Prophet Joseph Smith. Now the Book of Mormon is bringing the descendants of Book of Mormon peoples—and other people from all around the world—to Jesus Christ.
“I’m so grateful for the Book of Mormon,” says Carmen Hernández, a Mia Maid who hopes to thank the Book of Mormon prophets someday. “When I meet them,” she says, “I will say, ‘Thank you for helping so many people find answers and come to Christ.’” (See 2 Ne. 33:11; Jacob 6:13; Ether 12:38.)
While the testimonies of Christ recorded in the Book of Mormon were preserved by the hand of the Lord against the ravages of time, the ancient cities of Mesoamerica haven’t fared as well. Time, the elements, and other factors have reduced some of the once-great civilizations to rubble.
Still, the youth—such as the group from the Canek Ward—enjoy visiting the ruins and imagining them bustling with people and wondering what it was like back then.
“It’s awesome to see structures like those the people of the Book of Mormon may have built and lived in,” Carmen says.
Through their studies in seminary and Sunday School, the youth of the Canek Ward are trying to build testimonies of Christ that won’t crumble and decay like the ruins around them.
“As we’ve studied the Book of Mormon, my love for the book and my testimony of the Savior have grown,” says Carmen.
According to these youth, another major factor in strengthening their testimonies of Christ is going to the temple.
Many tourists come to southern Mexico—dubbed “the land of temples”—to explore the ancient ruins called “temples” because of their apparent religious uses. But for all the ancient temples surrounding them, the youth of Mexico are most excited about having their own Latter-day Saint temples—where they will make covenants with God and be married for all eternity.
One of these is the Mérida México Temple, completed in July 2000. It is only a 10- or 15-minute drive from where the youth in the Canek Ward live.
“Everyone was so excited to find out we were going to get a temple,” says Ismael Herrera, a priest. “Before, we had to travel to Mexico City.”
The youth had made the trip to the Mexico City temple to perform baptisms for the dead, but that temple is located more than 16 hours away.
“Our temple is so close,” says Jorge. “There are so many more opportunities to go.”
“In all the times we’ve been able to go to the Mérida temple, we could have gone to the Mexico City temple only once or twice,” agrees Carmen. “Having a temple here allows us to help a lot more people.”
Whenever the Lord has had a people, He has commanded them to build temples (see D&C 124:39). In the Book of Mormon, Nephi and his followers built a temple soon after leaving the families of Laman and Lemuel (see 2 Ne. 5:16). King Benjamin taught his people at a temple (see Mosiah 1:18). Alma and Amulek taught in temples (see Alma 16:13). And Christ appeared to the people gathered at the temple in Bountiful (see 3 Ne. 11:1).
These Mexican youth have read about the temples of the Nephites. They’ve visited the ruins of ancient temples. Now they have a dedicated temple in their own area. They love going to their modern temple. It’s peaceful. It’s quiet.
Like the ruins of ancient temples, it seems untouched by the outside world. But in this temple, they can feel something they don’t feel anywhere else.
“This is the house of the Lord,” says Jorge.
239 chapters in the Book of Mormon
77 verses in the longest chapter, Jacob 5
2 verses in the shortest chapters, 3 Nephi 30 and Moroni 5
3,925 references to the Savior in the Book of Mormon, or one reference every 1.7 verses
5,000 copies of the Book of Mormon made in the first printing (March 1830)
108,936,922 copies printed from 1830 to 2002
103 languages in which all or part of the Book of Mormon is available
1,353 times the phrase “it came to pass” appears in the Book of Mormon
As members of the Church all over the world study the Book of Mormon this year in Sunday School, each of us can gain, or renew, our testimony of the book’s truthfulness through prayer (see Moro. 10:3–4).
President Gordon B. Hinckley has said: “Without reservation I promise you that if you will prayerfully read the Book of Mormon, regardless of how many times you previously have read it, there will come into your homes an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord. There will come a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to his commandments, and there will come a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God” (“The Power of the Book of Mormon,” Ensign, June 1988, 6).

Margaret could feel her face getting red as the math teacher wrote the grades on the blackboard. Twenty scores had already been posted and hers was still lower. He kept on writing—forty-one, thirty-nine, and thirty-eight.
No one knew that she was the one who had a score of thirty-nine, but to be next to last was embarrassing just the same. Margaret closed her eyes and wished she were far away.
Just then the bell rang and class was over. Margaret gathered up her books and started home. But instead of going straight home to her house she stopped by Mr. Tucker’s yard where he was carefully turning over the garden with a shovel.
“Well, if it isn’t Meg!” he called. Just those few words from Mr. Tucker made Margaret feel better.
“Hi, Mr. Tucker! It’s such a nice spring day that I knew you’d be out here.”
“You know me pretty well, don’t you? Put your books down and visit awhile.”
Margaret watched the dry brown earth become a rich black as the shovelfuls were turned over.
“How was school today?” Mr. Tucker asked as he wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.
“All right, I guess. Anyway, it’s almost over for the year.”
“How are you doing in English?”
“Good,” Margaret answered.
“And you’re still doing well in science and art?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess the long face is for math.”
“That’s right,” Margaret answered, disgustedly. “As a matter of fact my score was next to the lowest in class today.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Tucker said, stopping his work for a few minutes to talk about Margaret’s problem.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Numbers just don’t make much sense to me. I’m afraid I’ll never understand them.”
“Well, now, I know you pretty well, Meg,” Mr. Tucker told her. “You’ve always done well in school. Most things seem to come easy for you, and so I know you’re going to be able to lick your problem with math.”
Margaret watched the soil as Mr. Tucker went back to turning it over. “You’ve come across something that isn’t easy, Meg,” he continued. “But now you’ve found a challenge, it can be pretty exciting to meet it head-on and prove you can master it.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Meg said. “Instead, I’ve just become upset until I sometimes feel as though I just hate it, especially since I’ll probably have to go to summer school if my grades don’t get any better.”
“Would that be so bad, summer school I mean?” asked Mr. Tucker. “Seems to me that might be a pretty good place to put in some hours. We didn’t have anything like that when I was a boy.”
“Well,” Meg replied. “Summer school is great if you can take the things you want. I guess the trouble is that I don’t like math any time of the year.”
“Math’s important, Meg.”
“I know. That’s what Mom says, but I guess I haven’t learned to like it yet.”
Mr. Tucker turned the last of the dry, brittle earth into crumbly black soil. “There, now I can get to planting.” He wore a twinkly kind of smile that Margaret had often seen, but only when he was working in the garden. She’d wondered about that certain smile but had never found a good answer for it.
The next week school ended and Margaret had only one week of vacation before summer school. Every day she walked down to watch Mr. Tucker weed and water his tomatoes and corn and peas. She watched his gray head bent over a tomato plant, searching for new weeds. And she wondered why he bothered with such a little garden.
“It’s not much of a garden this year,” Mr. Tucker admitted, reading her thoughts one day. “I used to plant this whole backyard.”
“Why do you work so hard anyway?” Margaret asked. “You usually give most of the vegetables away.”
Mr. Tucker had that same twinkly smile on his face as he answered. “It’s nice to be needed. And some folks depend on my vegetables, just like I’m depending on you to learn to like math.”
“I’ll try,” Margaret promised. And math lesson by math lesson the first week slowly passed. Summer school wasn’t half as unpleasant as she had anticipated.
She studied hard but on the first test she only scored fifty-eight.
“I’m afraid I can’t make a better grade,” Margaret told Mr. Tucker, showing him her red-checked paper.
“Yes you can!”
“I tried so hard. And look!”
“But you’ve only been going a week,” Mr. Tucker reminded her. “You’ll probably score in the sixties next week.”
And so before each test during the summer Margaret worked and studied a little harder. Slowly her scores began getting better and Mr. Tucker’s tomatoes grew bigger and riper.
“The day my first tomato is ready to pick you’ll get a hundred on your math,” he predicted.
Margaret laughed. “I’m working at it,” she said.
“And working isn’t so bad, is it? Still hate math?”
“Only a little,” Margaret answered, and the answer surprised even her.
“That’s my Meg!”
The next Monday when the math teacher wrote the scores on the board, there was only one hundred—Margaret’s. She had worked very hard all summer and was so pleased with the results that she smiled all the way to Mr. Tucker’s.
“Guess what?” she shouted.
“You got a hundred,” Mr. Tucker said matter-of-factly.
“How did you know?”
Mr Tucker held up a bright red tomato. “Easy,” he said, “my first tomato is ripe.” Then they both laughed.
“Here, this one is yours,” he said. “It’ll make a great sandwich for lunch.”
Margaret noticed his twinkly smile again as he put the tomato in her hands. Now she understood about the smile and without even a mirror, she knew she wore the very same kind of smile. Suddenly she realized that the “something” that Mr. Tucker was smiling about was the feeling that comes when a person has a feeling of accomplishment.
“Thank you,” she said, “and if this tomato tastes as good as the feeling of finally earning a hundred in math, it’ll be a great sandwich. You know,” Margaret added, “it’s almost like magic what a little work can do.”
Mr. Tucker nodded in agreement. “There’s not really much magic in this old world,” he said. “But it’s a great feeling when you’re a part of making something almost magical happen.”

Some years ago, in beautiful Heber Valley just east of Salt Lake City, a loving mother and devoted father returned to that personal haven called home to discover that their three eldest sons lay dead. The night was bitter cold, and the fierce wind swept the falling snow, which covered the chimney, trapping deadly carbon monoxide fumes throughout the house.
The joint funeral service for the Keller boys was one of the most touching experiences of my life. The residents of the community had placed aside their daily tasks, children were excused from school, and all thronged to the chapel to express their deep feelings of condolence. So long as time and memory endure, I shall remember the scene of three shiny caskets, followed by grief-stricken parents and grandparents making their way to the front of the building.
The first speaker was the wrestling coach of the local high school. He paid tribute to Louis, the oldest boy. With an emotion-filled voice and choking back the tears, he told how Louis was not necessarily the most gifted wrestler on the team but added, “No one tried harder. What he lacked in athletic skill he made up with a determined heart.”
Then a youth leader spoke of Travis. He told how Travis had excelled in Scouting, in Aaronic Priesthood work, and was such a sterling example to his friends.
Finally, a distinguished appearing and obviously competent elementary school teacher told of Jason, the youngest of the three. She described him as quiet, even shy. Then, without embarrassment, she told how Jason had, in the scrawled penmanship of a boy, sent to her the sweetest and most welcome letter she had ever received. Its message was brief—just three words: “I love you.” She could barely complete her talk, so deep-felt were her emotions.
Through the tears and the sorrow of that special day, I observed eternal lessons that had been taught by those boys whose lives were honored and whose mortal missions concluded.
A coach expressed the determination to look beyond athletic prowess and into the heart of each boy. A youth leader made a solemn vow that every boy and girl would have the benefit which the program of the Church provided. An elementary school teacher looked at the small children, classmates of Jason. She said nothing, but her eyes revealed the determination of her soul. The message was unmistakably clear: “I will love each child. Each boy, each girl will be guided in the search for truth, in the development of talent, and be introduced to the wonderful world of service.”
And the audience could never again be the same. All will strive toward that perfection spoken of by the Master. Our inspiration? The lives of the boys who now rest from care and sorrow, and the fortitude of parents who trust in the Lord with all their hearts, who lean not to their own understanding, and who in all their ways acknowledge Him, knowing that He will direct their paths.
Let me share with you a portion of a letter sent to me by the noble mother of these three sons. It was written soon after their passing.
“We do have days and nights that right now seem so overwhelming. The change in our home life has been so drastic. With almost half our family gone now, the cooking, washing, and even shopping are different. We miss the noise and clutter, the teasing and playing together. Such are gone. Sunday is so quiet. We miss seeing the sacrament blessed and passed by our sons. Sunday was truly our family together day. We ponder the thought: no missions, no weddings, no grandchildren. We would not ask for their return, but we could not say we would ever have willingly given them up. We have returned to our Church duties and our family responsibilities. Our desire is to so live that the Keller family will be a forever family.”

Illustration by Don Seegmiller
I still remember the first time I saw the two men standing on our doorstep in Peru. They were wearing white shirts and ties, and they were so tall! I thought they had warm smiles.
“They must be nice,” I thought. My parents must have thought so too because soon the missionaries were coming to our home often.
I loved listening to the missionaries and always felt they were telling the truth.
“Don’t you want to be baptized, Mamá?” I asked my mother one day.
She smiled. “I do. But I want to be baptized with your father.”
I nodded. I was nine years old—old enough to be baptized. But I wanted to be baptized with my father as well, and he wasn’t sure if he believed what the missionaries taught.
“Keep praying, and the time will come,” Mamá said, as if she could read my thoughts.
I knew that the missionaries had challenged my father to follow the invitation at the end of the Book of Mormon to ask God with a sincere heart if the gospel is true. So one evening I decided to help my father with that challenge. I asked if we could pray together the way the missionaries had asked. We went into my room and knelt down. He asked me who was going to say the prayer.
“You say it, please,” I said.
My father started praying to Heavenly Father. When he asked if we should be baptized, a feeling of love and peace wrapped itself around us. It was so strong that my father stopped speaking for a minute. We knew we needed to be baptized.
I’ll never forget the look in my father’s eyes after he ended that prayer.
“We have our answer,” he whispered, giving me a hug.
I smiled as I buried my head in his shoulder. The Holy Ghost had made it possible for us to know the truth (see Moroni 10:5).

With flexible, low-cost online courses available through BYU-Pathway Worldwide, obtaining an education is possible for more people than ever, including Samantha Winterdal.
Samantha, from the Dominican Republic, always planned to go to university, but her plans didn’t work out the way she envisioned. After high school, she got a job but felt like something was missing. “Every year that passed, I saw my schoolmates graduating, and I was just working,” Samantha said. “I thought, ‘What am I doing with my life?’”
She decided to pray for guidance. One Sunday, a sister from church mentioned BYU–Pathway to her. Samantha registered and began her first course. Although she couldn’t complete it at that time, she returned to BYU–Pathway years later to resume her studies.
When Samantha was ready to start classes again during the COVID-19 pandemic, she enrolled at a local university. However, the school wasn’t designed to run online and wasn’t accommodating of her schedule, so she left. With the encouragement of her husband, Mario, she decided to go back to BYU–Pathway—she loved it so much that Mario enrolled too!
“We love the flexibility of BYU–Pathway because it allows us to work and take care of my 94-year-old grandfather, who has cancer,” Samantha said. “I know that I will continue to climb to the work level I want, and it will also help me with my own business.”

“One time my mother told me that I could have a birthday party and invite anyone I wanted. We decided that eight children would be about right. But when I got to school and looked at all the children in my class, I couldn’t decide whom not to invite, so I invited all of them without saying anything to Mother. Instead of eight children at the party, there were forty-four! She just laughed about it and put some cupcakes into the oven. By the time we had played our games, she was able to serve them all something. A lot of mothers would have been upset over the situation, but not mine.